


You can Dance

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-15
Updated: 2006-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	You can Dance

_You can dance  
Ev'ry dance with the guy   
Who gives you the eye   
Let him hold you tight_

Patrick didn't really like to dance.

And the funny part of it was that he was a suprisingly good dancer. He had rhythm. He had grace. He even looked sexy doing it.

But.

He just....ok, he wasn't into dancing in _public_. Not out in the clubs or the after-parties. He preferred at home, with the guys, having a dance-off, or in the studio making them collapse in laughter (and a little awe). If they managed to get him out onto the floor, he would make sure that there was such a press of bodies that no-one could really notice him busting those eerily smooth moves.

Pete, on the other hand; Aha, now _he_ liked to dance in public. But he persisted in thinking that ancient tribal rain-stomps were always in vogue. Pete usually danced badly, but he danced badly in _style_. Like most things Pete did.

And Pete danced badly in style with _everybody_.

No, no. Patrick wasn't the jealous type.   
Ok, fine. He was. A little.

He was actually jealous for two reasons.

1) Pete was just so free. He sometimes wished he could let go and whirl and kick like that on the dancefloor, nevermind who got caught up in the furor. People would actually stop and stare. Pete was like a force of nature, climbing tables, jumping into crowds. It was like the biggest laugh ever.

2) Pete was just so fucking _free_. He would dance with anybody who asked, or even whomever simply grabbed onto him and turned him around. Patrick would watch Pete go off with someone, and the thing about Pete was, he was so damned intense about everything. He would focus on you and you would feel pinpointed and highlighted, and if he stared at you long enough you would get so turned on that you could hardly breathe. At least, that's how Patrick felt. He was pretty sure that he was _not_ the exception to the rule.

 _You can smile  
Ev'ry smile for the man who held your hand   
'Neath the pale moonlight_

So he would watch some person latch onto Pete, and Pete would give them the Eye, as if he was some sort of weird sensual gypsy (which he sorta was....have you _seen_ Pete?), and that person would just grip onto him and not want to let go. Pete would flash them that supernova grin, and it would literally cause the other person's face to reflect the light like the moon. It was so fucking infuriating, and Pete _knew_ it drove Patrick crazy. That bitch knew, because he would glance over at Patrick lounging at the table or against the wall and wink at him, and Patrick would begin to plot all sorts of evil things.

Tie Pete up.

Tickle Pete with feather.

Disregard Peter's begging.

Well. Those weren't that evil, but you get the drift.

 _But don't forget who's taking you home  
And in whose arms you're gonna be  
So darlin', save the last dance for me_

But then it always got better. At the end of every Pete Dance (all parties and club-outings became a Pete Dance, didn't you get the memo?) Pete would saunter over to Patrick, and tug on his hand.

"You're driving," he would state, and Patrick would roll his eyes, because that was just so redundant. Who _else_ would drive?

And when they got home, Patrick would get the last dance. He would take Pete's hands and maybe remind him how to tango across the room (Patrick had taught him, discovering that a structured move always toned down Pete's crazy limbs), or maybe just snap on the music and the both of them would have their own little after-party right there in the living room; Patrick would let go completely and easily, and Pete would stop and watch him move. And he would give Patrick the Eye, but it was the honest version of the Eye, the one tailor-made for Patrick, to lock him down and simultaneously draw him nearer, until Pete's mouth was against his sweaty skin.  
 _  
'Cause don't forget who's taking you home  
And in whose arms you're gonna be_

Patrick danced with grace. Pete moved with enthusiasm. It worked out spectacularly in bed.   
Sometimes Patrick would slow their movements down to a snail's pace, and they would slide against each other for hours, Pete's hands moving a slow waltz over his body, grasping here, gripping there, and Patrick would bury his face in Pete's neck, and use the tip of his tongue to mark out tiny tapdance steps against that straining chord there.

And sometimes the motion would just suddenly spiral up into Pete's territory, with backs arching feverishly and bodies knotting around each other, hips trembling and hearts thundering, Patrick letting Pete lead this one, and just allowing himself to be held down and ravaged. He liked being ravaged.

It was much better than dancing.

 _So, darlin', save the last dance for me._


End file.
